


I Do Not Want This

by DabMyWetties



Series: halo fifteen [4]
Category: Pentatonix, Superfruit
Genre: Alternate Universe, Boys In Love, Coming Out, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Homophobia, Implied Sexual Content, M/M, Pride, Series, Triggers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-08
Updated: 2017-07-08
Packaged: 2018-11-29 08:58:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,065
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11437512
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DabMyWetties/pseuds/DabMyWetties
Summary: Mitch holds it together as they take the elevator up to Scott’s floor and walk down the hall, but once the door is closed behind them the facade falls and, along with it, so does he. The hurt and anger and terror and rage wash over him all at once again and he lets his legs give out from under him, crumpling to the floor. Scott tries to hold him up but it’s a losing battle so instead he follows Mitch down and sits there holding him.





	I Do Not Want This

**Author's Note:**

> Buckle up. I’ll add a trigger advisory for homophobia and bad coming out/being outed experiences. 
> 
> This story doesn’t reflect any of the real, actual feelings or experiences of these characters. It is, however, a real story.

Their second date had gone as well as the first. So had the third, fourth, fifth, and by that point they weren’t really going on dates anymore. They were Scott-n-Mitch, so inseparable that it was more common to hear a portmanteau rather than their individual names. Boyfriends was a fine enough label, they’d figured. It didn’t seem enough sometimes. 

Weeks had flown by - nearly six of them since they first met, actually - where just about every moment not in class, at work, or sleeping was spent together. They studied at Java House. They rented movie after movie, quickly finding themselves on a first name basis with the Blockbuster employees, and watched them cuddled up in Scott’s dorm room. They went out dancing every weekend, usually twice, and it was getting to the point that Scott didn’t feel so strange and awkward dancing to music he didn’t know existed two months ago. Sometimes they just drove around until the wee hours of the morning talking about nothing and everything, about their pasts and what they wanted for their futures. 

And so it’s really a given that it’s Scott who Mitch calls late on a Thursday night. He’s vaguely aware that it’s late, that he might wake Scott or his roommate. It’s a thought in the back of his mind but it’s overwhelmed by more pressing issues. 

“Scotty?” he whimpers into the phone when his call is answered. There’s a brief pause, then an intake of breath. “Mitch? Honey, what is it?”

“Can I come over?” he manages, and there’s another vague awareness that he must sound pathetic but he can’t bring himself to care. “I need you. I didn’t know who else to call.” 

There’s a rustling sound on the other end of the line. “Where are you?” Scott asks. “I’m coming to get you, I’m putting my shoes on now.” 

“I can drive. I’m okay,” Mitch says weakly. “Well, no, I’m not okay. But I can drive. I don’t want to leave my car.” Scott’s voice is already calming him some. “I’m at the Shell station by my h- by my parents’ house.” 

Another pause. He can hear Scott breathing, then: “If you’re not here in fifteen minutes I’m coming to look for you, okay?” 

He’s there in eleven. Scott’s waiting in the parking lot as he pulls up, that tall, lanky form unmistakable, and Mitch slowly drives towards the open visitor parking spot Scott’s pacing in.  

Scott doesn’t say anything when Mitch gets out of the car. He has to see the bags and crap piled in the backseat but he doesn’t say anything; he just takes Mitch’s hand and they walk silently towards Scott’s building. “Ryan’s at his girlfriend’s for the night. C’mon,” he murmurs as they reach the door and head inside. Ah, the perks of a college roommate whose girlfriend lives off-campus; Scott basically has the room to himself six days a week. 

Mitch holds it together as they take the elevator up to Scott’s floor and walk down the hall, but once the door is closed behind them the facade falls and, along with it, so does he. The hurt and anger and terror and rage wash over him all at once again and he lets his legs give out from under him, crumpling to the floor. Scott tries to hold him up but it’s a losing battle so instead he follows Mitch down and sits there holding him. 

Mitch cries. He cries and he wails and he sobs and shakes, and Scott holds him and says things like “You’re safe” and “I’m here, baby, you’re okay.” Mitch can barely hear him over the storm in his head. 

It takes a while for the sobs to fade to hiccups. It seems like hours and that would make sense because he’d somehow managed to put off this breakdown for hours so it’s had time to build. “There we go, sweet boy. I’ve got you,” Scott murmurs, arms and legs wrapped around Mitch like some big warm protective cage. 

He’s shaking. They both are. 

“Ohhh,” Mitch moans miserably. “Oh  _ god  _ it was so bad.” 

Scott holds him tighter, kisses his hair. “I’m here. I’m listening.” 

“My mom searched my car when I was taking a nap. Found my backpack.” All the gay stuff he had, that he’d kept hidden in the trunk of his car in a plain black backpack - copies of The Gay Times and The Advocate, books, a pride flag, his rainbow freedom rings necklace, condoms, lube, photos of him and Scott, of friends, of Pride marches and parties - it all hit him, literally, in the chest after he was jolted awake by his bedroom door banging open and his mother half-sobbing and half-screaming as she hurled the bag at him. 

“Oh...oh no,” Scott whispers. “Oh, god.” 

More tears begin to fall but Mitch isn’t approaching breakdown level. Yet. “She thought I was on drugs. Said I was acting strange and never home so she went looking for drugs.” Another whimper escapes, then a quiet, keening wail as he mentally rehashes what had been said. 

“Fuck,” he exhales. “She said  _ why couldn’t it be drugs? _ That she wished it were drugs.” A deep, shuddering breath to calm himself, then - “She said I was gonna get AIDS and die. That I could either act  _ normal  _ or get the hell out because she didn’t want any AIDS in her house.” 

“Oh no,” Scott groans. “No, no, no, baby…” 

Mitch clings to him. “And the stupidest fucking part of it,” he whimpers. “The absolute stupidest thing is that she wouldn’t let me leave. She was physically blocking me from leaving my room for… hours. Hours. Tell me to leave and then not let me do it? That’s…” He sniffles. “I was going to just get out, get somewhere safe, let things cool down. That’s what you’re  _ supposed  _ to do. That’s coming out advice 101. And I couldn’t.” He looks up at Scott. “I threw my important shit into bags and climbed out my bedroom window after she fell asleep. And now I’m a statistic.” 

“You’re not a statistic,” Scott’s voice is stronger. He’s frowning. “You’re not - you’ve got me. You’ve got Kirstie. You’re moving in with Kevin and Avi in like two months. This is bad, but it’s not -” 

“Babe,” Mitch wishes he could feel the apparent optimism Scott does. “I can’t afford to pay anyone rent on the shit wages I make right now. You know that. How’m I gonna finish this semester? If I don’t make the Dean’s List I don’t get the better job with a better paycheck. If I don’t get the better paycheck I can’t afford to rent from Kevin, and I sure as fuck can’t afford big boy college next year.” Scott’s shaking his head. “Yeah, sure, I can crash on couches or whatever for a few days here and there, but I’m a statistic. I’m just another homeless gay kid.” 

“No,” Scott says before Mitch quite finishes his sentence. That fiery anger is in his eyes. “You are not a fucking statistic. You are not homeless. Stay here until the semester’s over and you’ll be able to hold up your end of the deal. Not like Ryan would know or even care that you’re here for a few weeks. Nobody’s gonna leave you on the streets.” 

They’re like a knife, those words. “Except my parents,” Mitch mutters, hanging his head. 

“Fuck,” Scott groans. “I didn’t mean it like… shit.” He takes a deep breath. “Look. I will make sure you’re safe and that you finish school and that you have a roof over your head. No matter what, okay?” 

The hardest part of everything right now is that Scott has a point. He  _ could  _ crash here for a little while; he already sorta halfway lives here anyway considering how much time they’ve spent together in the last six weeks. What’s another five when it would mean a good job and security and a future? 

The thing is, though, that it doesn’t erase the pain of being kicked out, of the words his mom had said that he knew could never be un-said. At this moment he doesn’t want easy solutions; he wants to crawl into a gutter and die. 

“What if I get caught staying here?” he asks Scott. “You could lose your housing. Then you’d be fucked too. Maybe it’s better if it’s just me.” 

Scott shrugs. “Then I’ll pick up some extra shifts at work and we’ll rent a shitty little studio apartment and sleep on the floor and eat ramen and we’ll fucking  _ finish school _ .” 

It’s too much, all of it. “I need a smoke,” Mitch chokes out, trying to stop yet another round of tears. 

After a few heartbeats Scott unwinds his limbs from around Mitch and stands up. The loss of his comforting presence is agonizing. He returns a moment later with a half-empty can of Dr. Pepper and sets it on the floor. “Smoke. It’s too cold outside.” 

Normally Mitch would argue, would refuse to smoke inside with a nonsmoker, but tonight isn’t exactly normal. He doesn’t even try to argue when Scott sits behind him and wraps him again in comforting limbs, chin resting on the top of his head. “I don’t…” he pauses, drags and exhales, pauses again. “I don’t know if it’s fair to let you risk your future, babe. It’s not as simple as picking up a few extra shifts. It can’t be.”

Scott sighs heavily, the rise and fall of his chest moving Mitch. “ **If** \- and it’s a big if - anyone figures out you aren’t just a guest visiting me, and  **if** it somehow escalated to me getting kicked out of housing when they don’t do anything about all the parties and drugs and underage drinking that go on here, then the extra shifts thing might not be  _ easy _ but it really is fairly simple. Hundreds of people around me do it every day.” 

“Yeah, but, you don’t  _ have  _ to do it. You don’t need to juggle studying and more hours at work and scraping by to survive. Ramen is no way to live. You can’t risk what you’ve got.” If he could just get Scott to understand that this is a dumb risk to take, that this isn’t a fairy tale… 

“I’m not going to let you couch surf and wind up on the streets. It’s not happening.” 

“Scott, listen to me -” 

“Fuck’s sake, Mitch!” And Scott’s frustrated now, maybe bordering on angry, judging by the tone of his voice. “I won’t let it happen, okay? I don’t give a shit if I have to work a few extra hours or lose a little sleep or eat fucking ramen for a couple years. I love you and I am not going to abandon you!” 

Why doesn’t he understand?? “But you - wait, what?” Mitch frowns, mentally replaying Scott’s words. 

He drops the lit cigarette on the floor, quickly scrambles to pick it up and drop it in the makeshift ashtray.

He half-turns as best he can with arms and legs wound around him to look at a wide-eyed Scott. “You… you do?” Mitch breathes. The blonde looks slightly panicked and his eyes search Mitch’s face for a moment. “I mean… I - yeah.” 

Tears spill without permission and he can’t form words before Scott’s expression goes more panicked as Mitch starts crying. “Oh no, no, don’t cry, no… no, I know it’s soon, too soon, I wasn’t going to - I was going to wait….” 

“Stoooopppp,” Mitch interrupts him, now simultaneously crying and laughing. How can one day be both the worst and the best of his life? “Not too soon, shush. Jesus Christ let me move so I can turn around, you octopus.” 

“Not too soon?” Scott whispers as he loosens his hold, allowing Mitch to fully turn himself.  

And Mitch doesn’t answer, verbally at least, because he’s kissing Scott and crying and trying to make sense of the emotions swirling through his head. “Oh my god, I love you so much,” he finally manages between kisses. “You giant idiot.”  

“You’ll stay here, then?” Scott asks, much later and less clothed. “For a few days, at least? So we can talk and figure everything out?” 

Mitch nods and hums an affirmative. The dorm bed is crowded but he doesn’t mind. He’ll get used to it. 

**Author's Note:**

> Approximately 40% of the current youth homeless population in America today, at this moment, are LGBTQ+. An estimated 1 in 4 teens who come out or are outed to their parents/guardians are kicked out of the home or forced out due to abuse. 
> 
> This is an improvement from 20 years ago. 
> 
> Please consider the True Colors Fund, the Happy Hippie Foundation, the Trevor Project, the Ali Forney Center, the Ruth Ellis Center, and other charities whose work centers on LGBTQ+ youth.
> 
> You are not alone. You are loved. You are important.


End file.
